


Devil in the Details

by syntheticvision



Category: Defending Jacob (TV 2020), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Be Careful What You Wish For, Demons, F/M, Professor Andy Barber, Scott Lang is a Good Bro, Stalking, Supernatural Elements, demon andy barber, incubus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29186619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticvision/pseuds/syntheticvision
Summary: Life never seems to cut you a break until your History professor takes a liking to you and is willing to move heaven and earth to make you happy. It’s too bad it comes with a price.
Relationships: Andy Barber/You
Comments: 18
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

It’s just your luck, watching the fat raindrops roll down your windshield under the dark sky, when you realize you’ve left your umbrella at home.

Even when you take one last glance in the backseat to magically have it appear, you know you’re going to be drenched before you get to class. It should be the least of your worries, finally heading back to school when you’re a decade ahead of most of the people walking past your car. It’s a chance to start over, to finish what you started so long ago and finally complete your degree.

Thunder rumbles overhead and you focus on the bright and muted umbrellas that bob up and down as they weave through the parking lot. The sharp inhale of preparation propels you forward as you grab an old sweatshirt in an attempt to get as much cover as you can before it soaks up the water and becomes an additional weight for you to carry.

Once you open the car door, it’s as if the floodgates were opened and the downpour begins, making you slam the door shut as you huff in frustration. Your new rain boots should provide traction but after you nearly slipped on the pavement to get to your car earlier, you don’t want to take any chances.

You can’t be late for your first day. Not when you’ve come so far. Once you swing the door open again, you grab your bag and sweatshirt, raindrops pattering heavily on the ground and on top of your bag as you close the door behind you and try to walk quickly toward the campus.

“Hey! Wait up!”

The voice behind you seems to be calling to someone else as you ignore it and keep walking. You have no friends here, you’re still new to the town, still a transplant in every definition of the word.

“Sweatshirt! Hey!”

When you whirl around, a man with a giant black umbrella reaches you, holding it over your head as you stare at him. He’s older, you can tell by the small set of laugh lines in his face but the youthfulness of his smile makes you wonder if appearances can be deceiving.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. It’s really coming down and I don’t think that sweater is going to cut it,” he points out as you tuck it under your arm. “I have this ridiculously oversized umbrella. Might as well share it.”

The gesture is sweet, even if you’re immediately on guard. Kindness usually was an exchange for something, as far as you remembered.

“First day? You a professor?” he asks, walking with you slowly toward the building.

“Uh no. Student. Just trying to finish my degree.”

Even as you say it, you feel embarrassed. You should be going for your Masters, or even a PhD at this point. Even if there wasn’t a set timeline in life, you’d set one for yourself and had been massively disappointed at the fact you had not succeeded yet.

“Oh hey, me too. Just got out of prison. Trying to get a fresh start, you know?”

You try not to let the shock show on your face as you continue walking. Your mind automatically goes to the worst type of offenses before he continues talking.

“You know, I thought being a small time thief would mean I didn’t get the book thrown at me. I was wrong. Really wrong. But I’m out now and trying to go legit. I got a daughter and a girlfriend so they’ve been a great support system with me heading back to school.”

If you didn’t know that the man walking next to you was a talker, you know it now, as he continues to tell you about his life as you walk up the steps. His daughter’s name is Cassie and judging by how much he talks about her in one breath, she is the light of his life.

Once you’re inside the building, he lowers the umbrella and gives you a solid nod.

“See you around. Hopefully the rain calms down,” he says cheerfully.

“Thank you so much for sharing your umbrella,” you tell him in reply. “I appreciate it.”

It isn’t until you hear the wet squeaking of his shoes behind you that you realize you’re both going in the same direction.

“This is awkward. Do you have Ancient Civilizations? Professor Barber?”

“Sure do,” you affirm, reaching for the door handle before he beats you to it and opens it wide.

“Ladies first. I’m Scott, by the way. Probably should have introduced myself before I started talking about my family. I do that a lot.”

Once you tell him your name, you smile and continue through the door, the auditorium already eerily quiet, save for the small whispers and scrapes of bags against the desks.

You find a seat off to the side, enough to see everyone and far away to be out of view to be called on. Your shyness has always been something you know that you’ve always needed to work on but in this new world you’ve found yourself in, it is harder than you realized to try and make friends.

You aren’t sure what you would have in common with a sorority girl or even your new prison pal, who waves at you across the way as he sets up his laptop. Lifelong learning shouldn’t be taboo. This much you know, even if your brain is telling you that you don’t belong here.

A few moments later, a tall, dark haired man with a neatly trimmed beard walks in with a briefcase, setting it down on a large desk as you watch him shrug off his jacket. Even as he moves, you can tell he works out, the corded muscles flexing through his white shirt as he adjusts his tie. You observe him as he scans the class, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he settles his glance on you. Immediately you focus on your empty notebook page as you pick up your pen, scrawling the date on the top of the page.

When you look up, he’s turning on his laptop and you’re grateful for the reprieve, his gaze that had set on you almost unnerving.

“Welcome to Ancient Civilizations, I’m Professor Barber. Not Andy, not Mr. Barber,” he says loudly, the voices that have been whispering ceasing almost immediately. “I emailed out the syllabus and login information for the online labs. If you haven’t received it, please see me after.”

You can see the appreciative smiles of the girls when his back is turned, the low whispers of how their professor is ‘hot’. It’s a trope you’ve read in countless books and online fiction - and you’re aware that most likely by the end of the semester, he’ll probably have had a few in his bed judging by the way he surveys the crowd in front of him. It’s hard to describe this feeling that you have when you copy the dates that he’s placed on the board for the upcoming quizzes, tests and papers that will be due in the next few months.

There are people who exude power, who have a commanding presence. In this case, Professor Barber not only has both but he seems intimidating, the way he continues to stare. If you didn’t know better, you would feel like he’s searching for something - or someone.

A hand flies up before he has a chance to continue to speak, his head lifting as he calls on the girl by name. Perhaps he’s good with faces, you want to believe. But the girl fits what you would believe to be his type - young, fresh faced and hot, her sweater molded to her body so tight that you can see the outline of her bra.

“What are your office hours?” she asks, her voice overly sweet as she twirls a pen in her mouth. “I didn’t see them listed.”

You stifle the urge to roll your eyes, keeping your attention on your paper before you catch his smirk.

“I didn’t give them. It’s on a case by case basis. Email me first and we can set something up. Be advised that I will expect proof of work, not just wasting my time to hear me speak.”

At his answer, you see the girl raise her eyebrows in surprise, nodding rapidly as she scribbles on her paper. It isn’t the answer she was looking for, you can see that in the red bloom that covers her cheeks as she elbows her friend whose snicker of laughter reaches you before Professor Barber goes back to his introduction of the class.

It seems interesting, the in-depth amount of studying and contemplation of each culture. The deep dives are what you’re excited for, the idea of immersing yourself into a lab where you can devour information and learn from the past.

You feel the stare once more, looking up before his back is turned as he scribbles his email address and hours he’s in the office.

“In the next week, we’ll begin our first project. I’m not a baby-sitter so you’ll pair off yourselves. Be prepared to speak with me after class so I can notate who you are going to be working with.”

The familiar anxiety rises up in your throat at the thought of pairing off. You aren’t sure you can pick anyone. You can see the points and winks of people as they select their partners. You don’t want to be stuck with a sorority girl, who will most likely be friendly but remind you that you are out of your league.

When Scott gets your attention, he points at you and then back to him. It would work, you suppose, giving him a thumbs up. You’ll take your prison pal ten times over, even if he talks a lot.

🧿

Scott meets you at Professor Barber’s desk, shrugging his backpack over his shoulder like he’s back in elementary school. Now that you’re closer, you can see Barber’s blue eyes that seem to wash over Scott and then focus directly on you, never blinking as you focus on his desk that is carefully organized.

“Back for round two, Lang?” Professor Barber asks Scott, raising an eyebrow as he writes your name down and Scott’s.

“Second time's the charm, I guess. Thanks for making it easy on us and not picking partners.”

“People end up cheating either way,” Professor Barbes muses dryly. “Might as well make it easier on myself when I catch them in the act.”

You say nothing as Scott lifts his eyebrows at the comment and then turns to leave. For the moment, the rumors of the professor being a hard ass seem true but you’ve had your fair share of abrasive professors. Scott holds the door open for you as you turn toward him when you hear your name being called.

“Mr. Lang, she’ll only be a moment.”

When the door closes, you turn to face him.

“What did you want to see me for?”

Your question comes out harsher than you expect it to, the anxiety still present as you bite down on your lip.

Professor Barber leans over, opening a drawer as he pulls out a black umbrella and hands it to you. Once your hand makes contact with it and the side of his fingers, you blink at the almost pitch black of his eyes that turn back to blue as you take a step back in shock. The umbrella clatters to the floor as you blink once more, his concerned expression at your response making you wonder if you hallucinated.

“Everything okay?” he asks you, his blue eyes filled with concern. “Just an umbrella. Saw that you didn’t have one. It’s supposed to be raining for the rest of the day, well into the night. Figured you could use it.”

You bend slowly to pick it up, cradling it under your arm as you try not to look at his face. You can’t get the black eyes out of your head as you force a small smile.

“Thank you, Professor Barber. I appreciate it.”

Your hand reaches the handle as you pull it down, hearing him behind you.

“Don’t mention it. See you in a few days.”

The shiver that goes down your spine you account for the coldness that suddenly fills you. It’s just nerves, you tell yourself.

Lack of sleep and anxiety would do that to you.


	2. Chapter 2

“How’s college life?”

You examine a newly polished nail, holding it up to the light to make sure you have no missing spots before you place the brush back inside.

“Hmm?” you ask, twisting the cap back on.

“Were you even listening to me?” Your best friend huffs at your disregard of her question before you sheepishly turn your attention back to her.

“Sorry, Viv. It’s been a weird week. Made a new friend. He’s fresh out of prison.”

“Oh?” Viv seems to forgive you, her voice tinged with curiosity. “Is he cute?”

“For a man who is deeply in love with his girlfriend? Yes. Absolutely,” you reply. “I didn’t come here to find a boyfriend, you know.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t hurt if you did. Any hot professors?”

You lean back against the headboard of your bed, cradling the phone to your ear as you blow gently on your wet nails, the scent of the polish engulfing your nose as you try to think of how to answer. Yes, one of them is handsome? That you also hallucinated that his eyes turned black after you touched him?

“Haven’t really paid attention,” you say finally.

“You big liar,” Viv teases with an inelegant snort. “Whatever. I’m proud of you for finishing up your degree. That’s a big deal.”

“Thanks. It feels like by the time I actually graduate, I’ll need a wheelchair.”

“You’re in your thirties. There are great grandmas getting their bachelors now. Stop worrying so much about how much time it will take. You’re doing it on your own time. Be kind to yourself.”

You stay silent, knowing she’s right, your ears picking up a sound as you stay still. It’s faint but you follow the noise, listening to Viv continue her pep talk as you open the blinds. A beautiful cat with blue eyes scratches at your screen, the claws popping at the threads as you try to shoo it away.

“What’s the matter?” Viv asks, breaking from her lecture. “Did I hear a meow?”

“You did,” you confirm, frowning as it sits for a few moments before it leaps up and begins to pluck at the screen again as you gently tap the glass, trying to discourage it as it digs its claws deeper into the screen. You know if it manages to make a hole, you’ll be responsible for replacing the screen door and you don’t want to know how much your complex will charge.

When you slide the door open, the cat sits back down, looking up at you expectantly. The last thing you need to do is take care of another living thing when you can barely keep it together yourself.

“Oh no,” you deny, wagging a finger at it. “Absolutely not. You look like you’re well taken care of. I’m sure you have a family. Go back to them.”

The meow of its reply is loud, Viv cooing on the other end.

“Let the poor thing in,” she pleads. “It’s probably starving.”

“It looks well fed to me. I can’t just take in a stray. I bet it belongs to someone.”

When it launches up again, you throw open the door to deter it as it runs inside.

“Shit! Come back here!” you call out, only catching a glimpse of a tail as you chase after it.

“I’ll let you and your new friend get acquainted. Send me a picture of it! I bet it’s adorable,” Viv hints, before you stutter a goodbye and drop to your knees to search under the couch.

A pair of shiny eyes meet yours as it yawns, purring in content as you try to reach for it.

“You can’t stay here,” you protest, stretching out your arm as you feel sharp teeth sink into your fingertip.

“Ow!” you shout, ripping your hand away as it continues to purr, tossing onto its side, the tail flicking playfully.

Blood beads at the top of your finger as you swear under your breath, getting up to rinse it and clean it off.

🧿

You sigh, watching the cat sitting on top of the couch as you hold up the bowl with a few pieces of chicken.

“I have a feeling this is a bad idea,” you tell it, watching it circle around your legs as the tail curls around your calf. “You can stay for a few days. Just until your food runs out. Then you have to go. Deal?”

It meows at you before you place the bowls in the kitchen. You definitely never had pets before. Your mother was highly allergic and you had no idea what you would do with it, let alone ignoring the snap judgment you made in deciding to keep it.

But you make the decision as you step back inside, looking at it lounging on the back of the couch, that it is only a house guest.

It stares at you as you go past, flicking on the light in the kitchen to see the food uneaten as you hear a small cry as it stands in the entryway.

“Are you hungry? I gave you food,” you recall, motioning to the bowls. “It’s there. Eat it.”

It doesn’t move, blinking at you twice before it yawns.

“Oh, whatever.”

As you busy yourself making dinner, you scroll through your texts, receiving one from Scott who is excited about the prospect of presenting your outline for the next class. It’s clear that he wants to do well - you knew that by how eager he was in class on your first day and subsequently thereafter, making sure that he always had an answer to Professor Barber’s questions.

You, on the other hand, were not as eager to participate. Each time you set foot inside the classroom, you felt a chill. As much as you want to believe it is the faulty heating system, you also know that you’re still unnerved about what you think you saw. Professor Barber’s collection of books caught your eye on the third class. John Dee, Anton LaVey and Michael Harner had caught your eye. Books that to the untrained eye would make you not bat an eye. Ancient civilizations had long embraced various forms of religion but it still did not help that everytime you glanced at your professor, you could only remember how his eyes had gone black.

You fire back a reply to Scott, plating your dinner for one as you sit on the couch, your newfound cat following behind before it sits in front of you, staring at you.

“That’s rude,” you admonish, nudging it with your foot as you balance your plate on your lap while you reach for the remote. “Seriously, there’s food in your bowl. Go.”

It gives you a slight hiss at the third nudge as you snatch your foot away. It purrs almost immediately, flopping down to continue to stare at you.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’d be trying to set the rules here. I’m the boss, got it?”

It blinks at you as you tear your eyes away and focus on a rerun of the Dick Van Dyke show. You try not to worry about the loneliness that creeps up at a commercial break, the advertisement showing a group of friends out for coffee. It’s only been a few weeks since you’ve moved here and you can’t help but feel awkward at the fact that you haven’t made any mutual friends. Your mind immediately goes to Scott before you sigh, finishing your food as you pick up your plate.

“I wish I had friends,” you murmur, shaking your head at the cat. “Viv could come here and visit. That’d be nice.”

It blinks at you as you head back into the kitchen, absentmindedly washing the dishes as you think about how else your life could be improved. For that to occur, you’d have to have a genie somewhere and you were certain that as much as you wish, that would never come true.

Once you dried the plates and the utensils, you turned off the TV and headed toward your room, your new guest following you once again as it hops onto your bed.

“Oh no,” you respond, shaking your head. “Absolutely not. Off the bed.”

Its ears pull back and you huff.

“Seriously, no. I’ll make you a makeshift bed with some towels. But I’m not sharing my space.”

It yawns, blinking twice before it settles its head on its paws.

“Stubborn.”

You pull out a pair of gym shorts and a ratty t-shirt that has been your go-to sleep shirt for years, padding into the bathroom before you shoot the cat a glance.

“No peeking,” you call out, closing the door behind you.

Once the hot water finally turns on, you strip out of your clothes, pinning up your hair as you stand under the showerhead, groaning in delight at the beat of the water. The pressure is much better here than at your old apartment and you’re grateful for that, lingering for a few moments before you scrub your skin.

Once you rinse off, you pull back the shower curtain, nearly jumping at the sight of a pair of blue eyes that stare back at you as the cat sits on the counter, its head tilted to the side.

“How did you get in here? Opposable thumbs?” you ask, looking at the slightly opened door. “Or you’re just rude and took advantage of the fact I didn’t close the door all the way. I said no peeking.”

You dry off quickly as it hops down from the counter, leaving you alone as you apply your lotion and brush your teeth before you pull on your t-shirt and shorts. You finish off the glass of water at your bedside, downing it quickly so you don’t have to worry about the cat knocking it over.

By the time you slide under the covers, the cat is already asleep at the foot of the bed. Despite your best efforts, it got its way and you yawn, snuggling under the blankets as you close your eyes. It feels nice, knowing that there is something to keep you company before you fall asleep.

But when you dream, it’s vivid. Almost too real.

The breath that skates against your neck is warm, your legs slightly parted to allow for the feeling of a set of hands massaging your thighs, your eyes fighting to see what is in front of you. The scratch of a fingernail - or a claw, which is where your mind immediately goes, makes you fearful as you can feel your lungs cease to function as you toss and turn. When you roll onto your back once more, the hands return, soft and firm on your body before you exhale a stifled breath at the pad of a finger running up and down your slit. The body in your dream is clear, a pair of black pants and a white button down shirt. It is a struggle to see the face of the talented hands that are providing gratification, the movements making you cry out when a finger is pushed through your folds.

You want to wake up, to be greeted with the face that you swear you can see, the outline hazy in your reverie before it finally comes into view.

Professor Barber is beside you, watching you intently before his blue eyes turn to black, his hand working you over before you snap out of it, pulling yourself up on your elbows as you gasp, your eyes opening to nothing but darkness. It’s quiet, the cat’s eyes shining in the light while you draw in a cleansing breath. It wasn’t real, you tell yourself, your heart skipping a beat. You feel heat creep into your cheeks when you realize you’re wet.

When you toss yourself back onto the bed, you stare up at the ceiling, wiping the beginning of perspiration on your brow. Why he invaded your dreams you have no idea, but you blame it on your subconscious, due to Scott mentioning him hours ago.

The purr of the cat puts you back to sleep and your dream of Professor Barber is a distant memory.

🧿

By the time class is over, Scott is over the moon at the praise of the outline you’ve both come up with, Professor Barber keeping it professional as he looks it over once more before handing it back to Scott.

“Probably one of the better outlines I’ve seen in a while. I can tell you’re serious this time around, Mr. Lang. That’s a positive.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Scott replies, a hint of a blush on his cheeks as he unzips his bag to place the outline back inside. “Big compliment coming from you.”

“I wouldn’t be too hasty with the praise. You still have to present,” Professor Barber reminds him, looking up at you. “Participation is important in my class, as you know. You’re not just graded on the project.”

Your face is warm at his admonition, nodding quickly as Scott clears his throat.

“I think I’ve seen her hand up a few times,” Scott tries to defend.

“I haven’t seen it. I see everything. Might want to move to the center of the room instead of on the left,” Professor Barber suggests.

“Of course,” you answer quickly, not wanting to start an argument. You need this class and you need to do well. There is no use in trying to start an argument over nothing.

“Well, if you don’t have any other notes, I gotta go pick up my kid,” Scott says quietly. “She’s got practice in half an hour.”

“You’re free to go, Mr. Lang,” Professor Barber excuses.

You shuffle your feet side to side before you adjust your bag over your shoulder.

“Anything else, Mr. Barber?”

He raises an eyebrow before he leans over his desk, his elbows propped up on the table.

“I thought you would play a more vocal role with our current subject. Tattoos are a taboo subject. You have coordinates on your shoulder. I’m sure you got it to signify something important.”

You swallow hard at his mention, your heart sinking as you try to remember how he would know. You’ve always worn sweaters or cardigans in his presence and you blink twice before you try to respond, your mouth moving but no words can come fast enough.

“I’ll see you next week. Have a good rest of the afternoon.”


End file.
